Several months have passed since Wolf Squad’s last expedition. Elian and Zech are being tutored by Master Silas on human history, biology, and the religious traditions that existed before the cataclysms which, three centuries ago, annihilated human civilization at the zenith of its technological evolution. But today, Silas explains to the two boys some of the most concrete dangers of the Wasteland, so that in the future they may truly support younger and more inexperienced explorers.

  Silas taps his wooden pointer against a map at the center of the study table, where stains of ochre and sulfur seem to devour the sketches of ancient cities.

  ?Do not call them mere storms,? the Master says, his tone turning severe. ?The "Yellow Clouds" are the necrotic breath of a world that has stopped filtering its own poisons. When the great industries of the old world collapsed and atmospheric currents shifted due to the great fires, chemical deposits and refineries split open like infected sores.?

  Zech lifts his gaze from the globe. ?Why do they never disperse, Master??

  ?Because they are heavy, Zech. They are composed of an unstable amalgam of chlorine, sulfur dioxide, and synthetic particulates that nature does not know how to reclaim. They move like predators through the hollows of the earth, crawling along valleys and funneling into gorges. Wherever they pass, biology halts: lungs burn, blood acidifies, and plants dissolve into a cinereous pulp within a few heartbeats.?

  Silas approaches the window, observing the distant lands. ?The Castle of the High King stands here precisely because high-altitude currents keep the air clean, but out there, in the Wasteland, the Yellow Cloud is one of the silent reapers that has claimed the most victims among explorers. If you see it on the horizon, you have already lost half your advantage. No prayer holds sway against an atmosphere that has decided to kill you. There is only the faint hope of a desperate flight, seeking shelter with the aid of gas masks,? Master Silas concludes, leaving both Elian and Zech unsettled by the possibility that their explorer friends might encounter such a peril.

  ***

  Life flows with a monotonous rhythm inside the Castle of the High King. Yet, Wolf Squad has shattered that monotony by successfully completing two more missions, swiftly earning the trust of General Valerius. Among the veteran explorers, the fame belongs entirely to Vargo Cortez, who, as a captain, has proven himself excellent at guiding novices through the Wasteland.

  ***

  Vargo Cortez stands before the General. Valerius’s office is a place of yellowed maps and heavy silences. Vargo reports on the latest assignment: the extraction of still-charged fuel cells from a heavy drone charging station, located on the edge of a Cursed Swamp in the contaminated territories of the west.

  ?Giada Ricci has demonstrated determination and discipline beyond the ordinary,? Cortez begins, keeping his back straight. ?Kael Wald was fundamental. His skills as a cartographer and his intelligence as an engineer are a rare resource among explorers. It is hard to find someone who can read the terrain and, at the same time, understand the mechanisms of the old world at such a young age. The boy is a true genius.?

  Vargo continues, more briskly: ?Dax Stern’s physical strength and Mira Vance’s keen eye are further merits that make Wolf Squad a solid unit.?

  Valerius listens, tapping his fingers on the solid wood desk. He appears satisfied. ?And the Martel scion? How is Julien behaving?? The General asks, not hiding a certain curiosity regarding the boy.

  ?The boy is gifted,? Vargo replies. ?Physically, he is the most resilient of them all and possesses a certain charisma among his peers. But he is still too full of himself. He is immature. I hope he can grow and stop putting himself before everything else. Only then can he become a good captain.?

  The two observe each other in silence for a moment. The General’s face darkens. ?And the cleric? How is he conducting himself??

  Cortez does not hesitate. He confirms the General’s suspicions in a low voice. ?Don Thomas Blackwood is one of Cardinal Aldrich’s closest collaborators. His true goal is not spiritual support, but the gathering of intelligence. We well know the Church is thrown into crisis by the phenomena plaguing the Wasteland. And what it fears most is the Luminous Forest. But Wolf Squad does not yet have the experience for such a mission in those territories, so Don Thomas represents no immediate problem. His sermons do not take root in boys so pragmatic and, for the most part, atheistic.?

  ?This is good. That your boys are even atheists and partially immune to Blackwood’s words. The pact we made with the Church is convenient for both parties, but the clerics must not interfere with our expeditions. The risk of the Archbishop hindering us again is not to be underestimated, Captain Cortez,? the General states sharply.

  Cortez nods, fully aware of the power dynamics that led the generals of the past to accept carrying a cleric of the Church on every expedition conducted in the name of the Castle of the High King. The pact has endured for nearly eighty years. It is not that there were no clerics among explorers in the past, but the changes occurring in the Wasteland and the advance of the Luminous Forest forced military forces to hide information that could have undermined the colony’s power balance. The Church, being an ancient and still influential institution among the colony's inhabitants, developed its own interest in the changes of the Wasteland wherever something might contradict the orthodoxy in force since before the great cataclysms that destroyed the ultra-advanced civilizations of the past. Thus was born a somewhat shaky alliance between military and religious forces, because the former want the colony to survive even at the cost of manipulating the truth for a common good, while the latter want their "truth" to coincide with that of a world now in ruins.

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  Valerius rises, turning his back to Cortez to look through the embrasure. ?It is time to move again. Precious metals are scarce in the colony. I want your squad to go to the Gaping Gorge.?

  Cortez nods in silence. He fears his boys are still too green for such a place, but contradicting the General would be futile.

  ***

  By now, Wolf Squad has cut its teeth: they move through the Wasteland with greater confidence. The youths know well they are still beginners, but the presence of Vargo Cortez and the previous successful missions bestow upon the group a greater trust in the squad's capabilities.

  After four days of forced march westward, Wolf Squad reaches the objective. The Gaping Gorge is a silence that presses against the eardrums. It is a deep crater, a graveyard of metal serpents corroded by time and devoured by rust. Here, in the belly of the earth, the air has been stagnant for three centuries. The high-speed carriages of the old world lie heaped like the carcasses of prehistoric predators. The light from oil lanterns dances upon flanks of titanium and vanadium, tearing bluish glimmers from the dark.

  Vargo leads the group into the depths of the crater, reaching one of the carriages that remained lowest, protected by the collapse of the upper vaults.

  ?Strike only the parts that have endured,? Cortez orders, gesturing toward the metal that shines with a cold light. ?Look for intact molecular structure.?

  Giada tightens her grip on her weapon, scanning the shadows. This fourth mission carries a different weight. The Castle hungers for pure metal, the kind that does not crumble, the kind the colony’s Factory can transform into defensive engineering, including weapons and armor for future explorers and soldiers.

  ?Here,? Vargo murmurs, pointing to a joint where the panel is pried upward. It is aeronautical steel. He draws from his bag the tungsten-steel sledgehammer, its head black and heavy, forged from old drills. Beside him, Dax Stern holds the tempered steel wedge steady.

  CLANG.

  The tolling seems to split the gorge in two. The vibration travels up Vargo’s arms, shaking his very bones. The titanium plate resists, groaning with an organic hiss.

  ?Again!? Cortez shouts. He knows every blow could cause the unstable structure of the carriage to give way.

  CLANG.

  A bluish spark illuminates Vargo’s sweat-streaked face. The metal screams as ancient welds fail. At their feet, the leather sleds are ready to receive the load. Vargo plants his feet. With a final groan, the plate detaches.

  A sickly sweet, chemical odor, sealed for three centuries, invades the air. Giada raises the lantern. Inside the carriage, seated in chairs reduced to dust, are the passengers of the old world. Composed skeletons, still buckled in by belts, waiting for a stop that never arrived. They are intact, protected for centuries from the elements and from the now largely extinct scavengers.

  ?Move,? Cortez hisses. ?Everyone play your part. Recover your quota and find a new point to resume work.?

  ***

  For two more days, the Gaping Gorge resonates with a jarring echo. CLANG. CLANG.

  Finally, Vargo declares the work finished: ?Take the cables and the bearings. I do not want to remain here a minute longer.?

  As they load the final pieces, the wind changes tone. It becomes a rhythmic whistle between the suspended carriages. The air turns bitter. Vargo spits on the ground; the saliva tastes of sulfur and ammonia. Beyond the mouth of the Gorge, to the west, an opaque wall erases the horizon.

  ?The Yellow Cloud,? Vargo growls, his face lined with sweat. ?Chlorine and sulfur dioxide vapors. If we stay on the high road, it will catch us in the open. With this load, we are too slow.?

  The youths look at one another. The sleds overflow with noble alloys, the fruit of two days of sweat and bleeding calluses.

  ?We could abandon the metal and run,? Mira Vance proposes, but her voice trembles. Returning empty-handed to General Valerius is an unpleasant prospect.

  ?Or,? Giada intervenes, staring into the void toward the northeast, ?we cut through the Cursed Swamps. The mud and the wall of ruins will slow the cloud; the humidity will suppress the chemical vapors. But you know what is said of that place.?

  The Cursed Swamps are a hell of submerged concrete, where skyscrapers and tall buildings are islands in a sea of slime, mud, and stagnant water. A place where voices of never-before-seen creatures are heard, lying in ambush when everything is shrouded in darkness.

  Vargo observes the youths. ?Have your say. Leave the metals and flee toward the Castle, or cut the path, risking your skins in the mire of the Cursed Swamps??

  Dax tightens the sled rope until his knuckles turn white. ?We’ve been breaking hard metal for three days. I’m not leaving anything behind.?

  Julien Martel lifts his chin with his usual martial arrogance. ?I will not leave this titanium to the Wasteland. I say swamp.?

  A chorus of grim assents rises from the group.

  ?Then swamp it is,? Cortez decrees. ?Don your masks. Do not look west. Watch where you step.?

  ?May God protect us!? adds Don Thomas, who even in this situation appears smiling.

  The group surges forward. The sleds glide over the sand, aiming northeast. In the distance, the ruins of the ancient city emerge from the mist like rotten teeth. The ground turns yielding, the grass yellows, giving way to pools of oily green that bubble. The silence of the swamp welcomes them, broken only by the sliding of leather on mud. Behind them, the yellow cloud advances like a predator, obscuring the sun in a chemical twilight. There is no time for fear, only for the weight of the rope and the smell of the mire rising along their boots.

  Thus, Wolf Squad, for its first time, dares to venture into the Cursed Swamp: one of the places most feared by explorers, where the boundary between the natural and the supernatural seems to dissolve in the sick breath of the earth, leaving room for a horror that needs no name to be real.